Fugitive Colors

There’s a type of extremely popular WWII book that, for personal reasons, I do not gravitate towards. You know the books I am referring to. There’s typically a woman in a wool coat on the front, standing before either a European landscape or coastline, wearing a hat that is meant to scream ‘I am historical fiction’, and a pair of pumps that are just sensible enough for the treacherous journey she is embarking on. She may or may not be holding a valise.

Have no fear. These books are not hurting for lack of my enthusiasm. There are entire agents and editors whose sole manuscript wish list item is “WWII literature of all genres.” They fill display tables at bookstores and airports where they sell better than ice cream on a summer day and I’m happy for both their authors and their readers that they exist in such numbers. However, BookishlyJewish tends to rely on guest reviews for them because WWII and its related atrocities is not a topic I am capable of consuming as casual entertainment for a variety of personal reasons. So if my review of Fugitive Colors by Lisa Barr shows an embarrassing lack of knowledge of the conventions of this genre I am hopeful you will forgive me. I have not, nor do I aspire to, write in this sphere. I do not even intend to further read it much. But this book, which actually does not contain any scenes that take place during the actual war, caught my eye because it focused on a unique angle- stolen art. The story details not just how Nazis used confiscated art to fund the war, but also how jealously over the ability to produce art and control culture fueled many Nazis and their collaborators towards a hatred of high profile Jewish artists.

The story features Julian, a formed Hassidic Jew from the U.S., who leaves the fold to study art in Paris where he meets the extremely talented artist Rene, his enthusiastic but ungifted friend Felix, and his fiancée Adrienne. What happens next is fairly run of the mill love and friendship triangle stuff – Julian falls for Adrienne, Rene relentlessly cheats on Adrienne with an artists model while Felix stews at them all due to his inability to score with the girls or produce art deemed valuable by the who’s who of art society that is constantly fawning over Rene. When Adrienne and Julian finally get together, Julian is struck with guilt for what he views as a betrayal of Rene and therefore follows him into what is quickly becoming Nazi Germany to help repair the relationship between Rene and Felix.

Putting aside our objections at Adrienne being treated as forbidden property because of a fiancé who has cheated on her, strung her along, and generally treated her like dirt, we must also contend with our hindsight leading us to scream at the absolute awful decisions these two Jewish artists are making by pursuing their Nazi sympathizing friend right into the heart of the Rhineland. This is not the last time in the book we will have to do so. The action is fast and furious and almost always caused by extremely awful decisions made by the main characters for dubious reasons. Since the book takes place in the period immediately prior to WW II during the radicalization of Germany, we also get a peek at a concentration camp that is being used to hold political prisoners before the war breaks out and it is full scale converted into a slaughterhouse for Jews. 

While all of the above is certainly stuff that will capture the eye of most readers of this particular genre, I stuck along not for the plot, but for the wonderful depictions of art and what it means to produce it. Equally captivating was the depiction of what failed artistic ambitions can do to a person. Felix, who has all the wealth in the world to comfort himself, is radicalized by his desire to be a great artist. He is constantly being turned away by those he would impress – many of them Jews. Adding salt to the wound is the fact that his friend Rene – also a Jew – seems to come to artistic acclaim so naturally.

This struggle to achieve success in a field whose rules are completely unclear and ever shifting, brings to mind thoughts I have had when combing museums and realizing I am clearly not a great art connoisseur because I often enjoy pieces on the street corner far more than those on display at auctions. If an artist isn’t reliant on gallery sales, remember Felix is extremely rich, why care what “people in the know” think about his or her art? Haven’t many great artists been mocked in their time only to be deemed masters by later generations? Who even are these supposed taste-makers, and who gave them the keys to the kingdom? 

It’s easy for someone on the outside to mock, but I’ve seen similar cycles in my own field. I have never been able to produce much in terms of visual art, but I do try and tell a good story, and I enjoy recognition for that as much as the next person does. Gaining access to readers often means convincing an insular group of “publishing professionals” to pick your story. Writers must make it through a barrage of gate keepers who will tell them they are worthless over and over again. Self publishing has evened out a small part of the playing field, but that wasn’t available in Felix’s time. Besides, he probably still would have been a Nazi. Because as much as those who perform unthinkable acts of hate would like to blame others for their actions, the fault usually lies deeply buried within themselves. A sense of both insecurity, self loathing, and entitlement leads them to think the world owes them something and that it is completely normal to use violence to obtain what has not been freely given. No amount of accolades is going to cure that.

Content warning: The book features a lovely prologue showing how Julian’s artistic talent is a gift from God, but then included what I found to be a cliched version of leaving an ultra religious community. From the authors note, it seems this addition was made at the request of a critique group. I wish the author had opted to discard that particular feedback. Stories of leaving an insular religious community are as varied as the people who choose to do so, yet we always seem to be given only one type of narrative. For me, this story had very little impact on the coming plot or character development. I would therefore encourage my readers who find such tales painful, to simply skip it. There’s been a lot of talk about the way such stories are depicted in media, by people more qualified than I am, but a lot of it occurred after the publication of this book. So simply consider this a content warning for those that need it. 

The cover of the edition of Fugitive Colors that I read did feature a European landscape, the Eiffel Tower, but there was no human figure. Instead it focused on intriguing shading. I could feel the intentions of the artist who created it. That’s a good match for the book. It was a worthy read for me because of how it allowed me to relate to art. I was able to suspend my disbelief at the egregious choices everyone seemed to be making for reasons I could not discern, because the art kept pulling me along. Hopefully, whatever way you choose to engage with art of any form, this book will provide some insights into that process for you too. 

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